


love you (even though you hate me)

by cougarlips



Series: the "zuko is a freedom fighter" canon divergent jetko au no one asked for [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst, Freedom Fighters, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Instability, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War, anyways zuko is big gay, just like.... pretend zuko went on the road w jet smellerbee and longshot, not set in any part of canon, sometime after they left the rest of the freedom fighters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cougarlips/pseuds/cougarlips
Summary: There was fire in his blood, burning under his skin, something constant that simmered just under the surface every moment of every day, and it had been a long time since Zuko allowed it to breathe.
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Longshot/Smellerbee (Avatar)
Series: the "zuko is a freedom fighter" canon divergent jetko au no one asked for [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630861
Comments: 56
Kudos: 850
Collections: avataner





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from kesha's song shadows bc i got the new album and the lyrics are [chef kiss] bangin  
> anyways im emo for ships where person A has a secret identity they can't reveal to person B or else person B will hate them but it's person A's identity that saves person B so person A says "fuck it, i'd rather you hate me and live than love me and be dead" which is basically the short summary of this fic lol

Zuko didn’t expect it to happen this way.

He knew it would happen _eventually_. He could pretend all he wanted, could live the rest of his life as Lee, could leave the Fire Lord and the war to the Avatar and pretend it all was someone else’s problem. But that wasn’t his destiny.

It wasn’t a loss of control on Zuko’s part like he sometimes thought it would be. There wasn’t a lapse of judgement. It was purposeful. Intentional.

He and Jet -- they fought well together. Two sides to the same coin, slotting together on the battlefield naturally and seamlessly. Their backs to each other, watching out for the other. Zuko’s dual swords to Jet’s hooked ones piercing through the air easily, no resistance to be met with.

Longshot and Smellerbee were further away in battles of their own, but Zuko wasn’t worried for them. Longshot had the advantage of range, while Smellerbee’s size allowed her to weave in and out of the bandits mercilessly. 

It was too easy.

He knew the ball was going to drop, but he didn’t know _when_.

The bandits wouldn’t stop coming. Droves of them coming from all directions -- none of them particularly difficult to dispatch, but the sheer number of them kept Zuko and Jet in constant motion, and even their high stamina began to wane.

Zuko thought, at first, that these must be Fire Nation soldiers sent to find Zuko and bring him back home to face justice, but they were dressed in Earth Kingdom garb and fought in a style more akin to Jet’s -- ruthless with quick jabs, learned through trial and error rather than from a master. But there were so _many_ ….

Jet didn’t seem to care who they were as he lept and swung and attacked with a feral grace so unique to him.

It happened when Jet’s foot faltered and he left himself wide open to attack, slipping on the earth and falling square on his back. Zuko called out to him in a moment’s distraction, allowing one of the bandits to knock one of Zuko’s swords from his hands.

“Don’t think about me!” Jet called out, struggling against the hands of the bandits who gripped his arms with vice like intensity after kicking his swords away from his hands. “Fight, dumbass!”

Zuko did. He blocked and parried and lunged and ducked, fighting with one sword and his smarts, taking out the bandits like an army of one. He thought Iroh would’ve been proud to see him use his brain _and_ his instinct in battle for once.

He heard Smellerbee cry out and turned around to see her chestplate cracked, her torso clothed only in a thin green shift, and then a knife hurled through the air towards her--

Zuko kept battling with only one sword, aware of Longshot coming into his line of sight. He was closing in to grab Smellerbee and get her out. He noticed a deep, red splotch soaking her top.

Longshot took out at least another half-dozen bandits, keeping Smellerbee to his back at all times, until one of them managed to sweep his legs out from under him and he was falling, instinctively moving to shield her body with his own as a hammer came down on the small of his back--

Zuko locked eyes with Jet for a millisecond, but it felt too long. He was losing. _They_ were losing. The soldiers had the upper hand and Zuko was going to lose his partners any second now. Smellerbee was already so pale--

He had one advantage left in his mind, but to expose that advantage would mean losing their trust. He felt the fire brimming under his skin, just as it always did, but he stamped down on it. He had to try and beat them the non-bender’s way.

He never was one for hand-to-hand combat, but he had to _try._ He managed to duck low enough to grab one of Jet’s abandoned swords, the shape and feel and weight of it _wrong_ in Zuko’s hands but it was still a weapon, something he could work with--

He managed to continue for another minute before he heard a hoarse yell come from behind him, and Zuko dropped his guard for one second too long--

Jet’s arm was contorted in a way so unnatural it made Zuko’s stomach turn. Jet’s naturally deep skin was drained of its color, looking pallid and grey in the yellow light shining through the trees.

The bandits around Zuko thought they won as he dropped Jet’s hook sword on the ground. They eased up on him.

Their mistake.

Zuko locked his eyes with Jet’s wide ones. He could hear Jet’s thoughts as clearly as if he were shouting them: What the fuck was he _doing_? Do _something,_ pick up a sword, throw a left hook, _fight, dammit,_ calling him obscenities too vile to say aloud.

The bandits around Zuko whipped something behind his knees and he fell, dropping to the ground, his eyes still locked onto Jet’s. They held a weapon to his throat, making demands Zuko didn’t hear because Jet was across from him and his face was screwed up in pain as the bandit above him crooned promises in his ear and found another joint to snap--

The bandits behind Zuko tightened their grip on Zuko, and he could feel the one closest to him adjust his grip, ready to slit his throat--

Zuko disregarded the consequences.

Jet hating him, alive and well, was better than Jet loving him six feet underground.

There were bandits on either side of Zuko, each one holding his arms straight out, execution style.

He closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened them and met Jet’s one more time.

Fire shot out from the palms of his hands, first catching the bandits holding him down. The one holding the knife to his throat dropping his weapon before Zuko shot a fire fist in his direction.

There was fire in his blood, burning under his skin, something constant that simmered just under the surface every moment of every day, and it had been a long time since Zuko allowed it to breathe.

The bandits over Longshot and Smellerbee looked shocked, but when Zuko shot bursts of flames toward them they turned and bolted. Smellerbee looked still and white on the earthen floor; Longshot looked like he’d expected this to happen eventually.

He saw betrayal in Jet’s too bright eyes.

He didn’t need Jet to love him. He just needed Jet to live.

Zuko took a page out of Uncle’s book and felt the fire burst from his chest in the breath General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, had been known for, sweeping in a circle on his knees and driving away more bandits who realized they were well out of their depth. He lifted his own two swords, burning their steel with the heat of his hands until they burnt red, flames licking the steel as Zuko turned, finally, towards the only bandit left: the one hovering over Jet.

He dropped Jet, turned on his heel, and scurried away after the rest of his allies.

Only the four remained. With a trembling breath, Zuko smothered the wayward flames that caught the brush under them on fire, cooling his swords with the same movement.

He looked at Jet, but his eyes were closed. Passed out from exhaustion and pain.

Smellerbee, too, lay unconscious. Longshot hovered above her, his bow in hand, following Zuko’s movements like a hawk.

Zuko replaced his swords in their sheath, picked Jet’s up from where they lay on the ground and tucked them under his belt. He slung Jet’s body over his shoulder by his good arm, looking again towards Longshot who stood stock-still between Zuko and Smellerbee.

“You can’t carry them both on your own,” Zuko choked out. He didn’t breathe fire often, and it was for a reason: it torched his throat from the inside out, the scalding heat blistering his esophagus if done without preparation or experience, neither of which Zuko had.

Longshot’s eyes darted between his fallen teammates and back up to Zuko. He nodded. Slowly, he dropped his bow to the ground and stooped low to check on Smellerbee. 

He removed her chest piece and then stripped her of the now-soaked shift that covered her chest with a clinical sort of detachment. Left bare chested, Zuko could see the wound on her chest wasn’t deep. The blade that soared towards her grazed her broken armor and broke the skin of her sternum but, judging by the way Longshot’s fingers traced her ribs, her bones were intact. 

With an exhale and a nod, Longshot stripped himself of his own shirt and slid it over Smellerbee. He shouldered his bow and picked her up carefully, cradling her against his chest.

They weren’t so far from camp, and then they would never have to look at Zuko again.

The look of knowing inside Longshot’s eyes, though, confused him.

“You knew?” he heard himself asking. 

He didn’t expect an answer, but Longshot nodded shortly. He didn’t look at Zuko.

“Did they?”

Longshot’s eyes dipped down to Smellerbee in his arms.

“She did,” Zuko said aloud, answering his own question. Warily, he said, “I’ll leave as soon as we’re back and I know he’ll be okay.”

“He won’t be,” Longshot said.

Zuko knew he was right.


	2. there's no use in hearing the truth from a liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from badflower's song wide eyes, which is THE most jetko song i've come across. seriously, the bridge? could not decsribe jet or zuko more if it tried
> 
> also i wanna be emo for a little bit and thank everyone for the reception this fic (and my other one) have gotten! i've mentioned it to some people already but i haven't been so embraced by a fandom in a long time. knowing there are people who see my pieces and find them compelling enough to read and then to enjoy them enough to comment? i don't really know what to say, but thank you feels so... not enough? idk fam but!!! i've loved writing these and i'm glad you guys are enjoying them!!

Longshot and Smellerbee were worried for Jet.

He’d been shaken before, yes, but he always had some kind of plan, some kind of idea to get them moving. Even wounded -- which he _had_ been, before, worse than this -- he couldn’t keep still. He couldn’t keep from formulating a strategy.

To wander aimlessly through the forests of the Earth Kingdom with no real end goal in sight….

But Jet didn’t want to talk about it.

He didn’t want to _think_ about it.

He didn’t want to think about _him_.

He insisted upon meeting Jet and his gang that they would hate him if they found out about his past (but Jet himself shrugged it off because, really, didn’t they all have pasts they weren’t proud of?). 

He proved time and time again that he wasn’t born or raised in the Earth Kingdom, but none of them asked where he _did_ hail from.

The perpetual stick rammed inside his ass that left the impression of nobility only confused them for a week or so before they ignored that, too, because that was just how he was.

(And didn’t all fire benders think themselves of a higher status than anyone else?)

The ache of Jet’s arm was a constant reminder that Li was dangerous. (But did he ever try to attack them, really?)

Smellerbee and Longshot murmured indistinctly behind Jet. He knew it was out of character for Longshot to carry his half of a conversation verbally, and yet Jet didn’t seem to care about the abnormality. The notice seemed to enter his mind and leave just as quickly. It didn’t stick.

The pair, though, exchanged worried eyes for their broken leader, because that’s exactly what Jet was.

Broken.

“He really didn’t expect it?” Smellerbee whispered, and Longshot shook his head. “But his eyes…. No one else has amber eyes outside of the Fire Nation, you know?”

Longshot looked towards Jet with a somber expression. “I don’t think he’s ever been so close to a fire bender.”

She made a face. “But still… his fighting style. No one in the Earth Kingdom fights like him. And I know he uses swords, but the way he moves ....”

“Jet doesn’t move like a traditional Earth Nation swordsman,” Longshot countered.

“But dual swords, like his? Those aren’t _common_ here.”

“Are hooked swords?”

Jet didn’t actually _listen_ to their words, though they passed through his ears. He could feel their gaze on him. He ignored them.

Li had been so _insistent_ when they met that Jet would want nothing to do with him if he found him out.

( _I’m not who you think I am, and my past_ is _going to catch up to me. If we continue to travel together, it’ll come for you, too._ ”)

But Jet always ignored his warnings, because Li was strong, capable.

Dependable.

Without thinking, he reached for one of the knives he kept inside his belt and, with a yell, he hurled it opposite him toward a tree trunk.

Smellerbee and Longshot stopped walking, watching as Jet pulled one of his swords from his sheath and wailed on the tree trunk with his good arm. His left arm was tucked securely in a sling over his chest, immobile as it healed from the damage the bandits had done to it.

“Jet--” Smellerbee called out.

“ _What_?” he spit, rounding on her, the dagger pointing mere inches from her face.

She turned red in fury. Before Longshot could intervene, she pulled one of her own weapons out and pointed it back at Jet. Without her armor, they could all see how fast her chest rose and fell in both pain and frustration.

“He _saved_ us, Jet!” she yelled. “And he left because he knew _this_ is how you would react!”

Jet’s eyes went wide in disbelief. Smellerbee disagreed with him every now and then, but to talk to him this way? He stepped closer, his sword coming dangerously close to the already angry wound on her chest.

“He’s Fire Nation!”

“And?” she roared.

He stepped back as if she’d struck him. Longshot felt some of the tension ease up from his shoulders.

“And?” Jet repeated. “ _And_ ? He’s the _enemy,_ Smellerbee.”

She scoffed. A shrewd sound. “Jet, he’s _one of us_.”

“Like hell--”

“Fire Nation or no, he was cast out! He was _abandoned,_ Jet, just like we were.”

“That’s what he _wanted_ us to think.”

She pocketed her knife and brought her hands to her hair. “Jet, you’re so _stupid_ sometimes!” she exclaimed. The movement pulled at the healing skin of her chest and as she winced, Longshot moved in protectively. She waved him back.

“Jet,” she said, trying to calm down, breathing as evenly as she could, “he was _branded_ by a fire bender. He said he got it for speaking out of turn, remember? What could he have possibly said inside the Fire Nation that he would’ve been burnt so severely and kicked out?

“He wants to _end this war_ ,” she said, emotion coloring her voice. “He wants the Fire Nation to end their attacks and to live in _peace_ \--”

“Lies!” Jet hissed, but he was backing up. Cornered, like a wild animal. His eyes were wide with rage and terror both.

“You just can’t get past yourself to see that he’s just as hurt as we are, Jet,” she continued. “And he brought us both back to safety before he _left,_ because he knew you’d react _just like this--_ ”

Finally, Longshot stepped between them. “Let’s stop and rest,” he said evenly.

Jet’s face was red but he bit back an argument. Smellerbee visibly deflated, bringing a hand to her chest, feeling the burn of overexertion under her skin.

Jet left them be, but he himself stalked away to find a space where he could stew in anger alone.

He wanted to _fight,_ but the state of his arm prevented that from happening. Instead, he paced.

How could she sympathise with him? After everything they’d lost, everything they’d gone through, how could she defend a fire bender? How could Longshot take her side?

But there was a voice in the back of Jet’s mind, the rational part of his brain, that whispered she was right.

Jet growled in frustration. No matter how right she was, he, Jet, still fought to defend the innocent.

(But didn’t Li count as one of the innocent?)

No, he didn’t. He wasn’t innocent. Fire Nation weren’t innocent.

(But Jet, himself, wasn’t innocent either.)

Jet _protected_ people from the effects of the war.

(Li knew more than most the realities of war, though. He had a permanent reminder of it etched into his skin.)

Jet didn’t tolerate lying, not amongst his inner circle.

(He never _lied,_ though.)

Lies by omission were still lies.

(Li only held his tongue because he was branded for speaking out of term.)

Li spoke openly about his uncle, though, who could only be Fire Nation, maybe even a fire bender, just like Li.

(But wasn’t his uncle the only person in his family who was there for Li after his mother died?)

(Did his uncle want the war to end, too?)

(Did the Fire Nation hurt for peace as much as the other nations did?)


	3. will it keep me alive (or will it keep me safe and sound)?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from the song erase the pain by palisades. the title sounds really emo but it's really good....... and also kinda emo lkfdjhglkjfd
> 
> how did this story start as zuko-centric but morph into jet-centric? the short answer is: i found jet's perspective of all of this more interesting to write. no other reason, tbh. i have one more "installment", i suppose, after this one, but i might continue to delve into this weird little au i've created. i have no answer for why they're all on the road together, or what aang and the gaang are up to, or anything of the sort. i just want to work on this little freedom fighter+zuko bubble i've got going on :)

Jet fell asleep inside a canopy made inside the tree and dreamt of hazy sunlight blinking through the leaves.

He dreamt of wrapping himself around warm, pale skin -- too warm, the skin of a bender. The skin of a traitor. 

He dreamt of soft hair brushing against his face and hard, calloused skin under his own hard, calloused fingers. 

He dreamt of scars that only a swordsman would have, but more scars that told of fire. Scars Jet recognised. Scars of a survivor.

He didn’t want to remember Li like this. Vulnerable, open. He wanted to banish the memories from his mind.

Li was a traitor, and Jet didn’t have room in his heart for traitors.

(Did he?)

He woke up like he hadn’t fallen asleep at all, and once Smellerbee and Longshot were rested and ready, they marched on.

The first town they came across was near-vacant and the few residents didn’t meet their eyes. They kept inside their houses and their shops, their windows boarded.

The next day brought another town -- livelier, perhaps, but Jet turned his face at their peace.

It was just an illusion, anyway.

The stop allowed them to restock, though, and Jet froze at the sight of the wanted posters tacked to the wall of the item shack.

Li’s face stared back at him.

He tore the page down, holding it between trembling hands, but before he knew it he was balling the page up and stuffing it inside his pocket.

“You okay?” Smellerbee asked. She’d been distant with him since their fight, but concern clouded her features. He must’ve looked bad.

They slept that night in an inn just off of the town they’d found, and while Longshot re-dressed Smellerbee’s wounds, Jet pulled the wanted poster back out of his pocket.

Jet couldn’t quite make out the words on the poster -- reading was never his strong suit as he never had formal education and his parents were killed when he was just a boy -- but the picture was unmistakable, and apparently Li was worth a _lot_ of money.

(What did he do to make himself _such_ a target?)

Here, Li had longer hair pulled into a high ponytail, though the majority of his head was shaved. Uncommon, he thought, from what he knew of Fire Nation culture. Wasn’t their hair their pride? Or something like that?

He looked younger in the picture. His right cheek fuller, his jaw more rounded, the scar more pronounced.

He looked angry in it. He had the face of someone alone against the world.

(Wasn’t that true, though?)

He pocketed the page again. He couldn’t look at Li’s picture any longer.

He slept that night and remembered the first time he tried touching Li: he raised his hand and made to rest it against Li’s arm, but Li flinched before Jet’s hand even made it past his own chest. Li apologized, and made himself scarce for the rest of the evening.

Jet wasn’t stupid. He’d seen too many kids come to him with that same look in their eyes to not understand where Li’s instinct came from.

He dreamt of the first time Li _allowed_ Jet to touch him: slowly, cautiously, bringing his open palm to the side of Li’s face, the side that was burnt. How Li didn’t move. How he closed his eyes and allowed Jet to trace the scar that stretched all the way over his ear. 

He dreamt of the first time Li touched _him_ : Jet had gotten cocky in the middle of a battle with some random thugs and, after Li dispatched them, he fell to Jet’s side and his hands roamed his body for injuries, checking for displaced bones and cuts mechanically. He remembered his hands lingering, though, after Jet made a stupid joke about how he needed dinner and a date first. 

He woke the next morning and cursed himself.

Li was a _traitor_. He didn’t deserve to take up so much space inside his mind.

The next few weeks followed slowly by. Jet’s arm healed, slowly, and he refused to wear the sling despite Longshot’s disapproving looks. Smellerbee’s chest began to itch as it healed, as sure a sign of recovery as they’d get. It hadn’t even gotten infected, and they couldn’t have been more relieved to get through the worst of it.

They made the decision to stop in a town neighboring Ba Sing Se, unable to bring themselves to move into the fortress of a city. Jet continued to reminisce about his time with Li, like how, at first, he refused to sleep even in an empty room in the treehouse. How he always woke with the sun. How Jet only caught him sleeping one time and found him disturbed by a nightmare he refused to talk about after Jet woke him up.

(He heard him mumble something about his father, and he began to groan, as if in pain. Jet didn’t want to hear him in pain like that again.)

He kept the wanted poster, unfolding it every now and then when he was alone and didn’t have to worry about Longshot or Smellerbee calling him out on his obsession with the Fire Nation. He couldn’t bring himself to show it to them. 

If he did, then they’d know how much the _teen_ haunted him, not his people.

The town they stopped in was the busiest one they’d come across since leaving their treehouse home. It had a healthy amount of bustle to it, but the crowd was certainly a rougher one than anything inside the fortress of Ba Sing Se. It felt safer, somehow, to the three. This was a place full of people like them. Survivors.

Smellerbee found a new chestplate to replace the one the bandits had cracked, as well as a new shirt to replace the soaked and bloodied one they’d left behind. They found a weapons shop, and Longshot purchased new arrows to replenish his quiver. 

When they stumbled upon a tea shop, Jet shrugged off Smellerbee’s nervous look as they entered.

(What did she think was going to happen? They would poison their tea?)

(He forgot Li always fondly referred to a tea-loving fool.)

The jovial old man who greeted them seemed kind, but as he brought them their drinks his expression seemed… off. Like he _knew_ them. His eyes lingered on Jet’s.

Jet’s hand met the hilt of his dagger. His left arm was sore, but if he absolutely had to use it he could suck it up--

“I apologize for the wait,” the old man told them in a still pleasant voice. “You are more than welcome to stay and have as much tea as long as you’d like, as I personally would like to thank you for being there for my nephew.”

Smellerbee’s fingers fumbled as she picked up her cup, and Longshot’s eyes shot straight to Jet.

Jet’s fingers still gripped the dagger in his pocket.

But the old man, it seemed, could sense Jet’s plot.

“With all due respect, I would like to wait until the end of my shift if you are to attempt to strike me down. I will tell you all I am able to.”

“ _Jet_ ,” Smellerbee hissed.

“Is he here?” Jet asked, the feeling of bricks settling inside his stomach.

“We live upstairs, but I must ask--”

Jet didn’t stay to hear another word. He bounded up from his table and took the stairs three at a time, pulling one of his swords out the moment he reached the final landing, kicking the door ajar to look inside the modest bedroom--

But it was empty.

The old man was behind Jet in a flash, a disappointed look on his wrinkled face. Jet jumped out of the window without listening to what the man had to say.

He was Fire Nation, after all, right?

What did his opinion matter?


	4. if you know love you best prepare to grieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from leave it alone by hayley williams

Jet jumped from rooftop to rooftop, desperate to scratch the itch he just couldn’t reach, the one that chanted _fight, fight, fight._

Li was _here_ , in the city, close enough to tell the old man who they were, which means he couldn’t have gone very far, right?

Jet wanted to pull his hair out. This was the biggest town they’d come across.

(But Li wouldn’t hide just anywhere. He preferred to stay where he had a full view of the sun.)

Jet looked for the tallest building, and he saw a silhouette standing on top of it.

It took him longer than he would’ve liked to admit to reach him, between their relative life of inactivity over the previous weeks and his injured state. When he got there, he recognised Li’s stance: straight as a pin, chin high, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t turn around to see who joined him on the rooftop.

“What, you aren’t going to fight?” Jet taunted, an angry, manic edge to his voice. Good.

(Anger helped mask the pain festering in his chest.)

But Li shook his head. “I don’t _want_ to fight, Jet,” he said. He sounded… tired. Weary. 

“Bullshit. You’re _Fire Nation_ \-- you’re always picking fights.”

“I don’t want to fight _you_ , Jet.”

“Why not?” Jet shot back, but there were flashes of memories in his mind. Memories of wrapping himself around Li as they slept, of placing too-warm kisses against the base of his neck.

He shook his head, wishing he could forget them, but Li only looked at the sunset.

“You’d fight the whole goddamn world but not me, huh?” Jet goaded, pacing behind Li. His arms itched to grab his swords, to fight, to hear his steel singing in the air, to see Li react to _something_.

“Yeah, you thought you’d just weasel your way into our group, right? Earn our trust? What was your plan? To burn our forest to the ground? To kill us in our sleep?” Jet moved closer with each accusation, fury painting his vision red.

He watched Li’s hands tighten, his knuckles turning white.

“Come on, Li. What’s another worthless, piece of shit Earth Kingdom scum to a Fire bender?”

Jet had a split second’s notice as Li seemed to exhale, his shoulders easing up, hands relaxing, before he turned around, reaching for his swords at the same time. A feral grin lit Jet’s features. He drew his own swords, ignoring the burn in his shoulder as he did.

“My name,” he said through gritted teeth, “isn’t _Li_.”

Jet could finally _breathe_ as the sound of steel clashed against steel. He was a fighter, someone who thought best spur of the moment.

But this wasn’t _it_. 

“You’re holding back,” he accused him, something a bit like hurt coloring his voice.

“You’re wounded,” Li -- not Li? -- shot back.

(But what did that have to do with anything? If he was wounded, it just meant he was an easy target to eliminate, right?)

Shaking away his doubts, Jet dove to his knees and his blade caught the hem of Li’s robes, slicing them away cleanly. “Not incapacitated,” he countered. “Now _fight me_.”

Li doubled down after that, and Jet finally felt his head begin to clear of the haze that had settled over it. _This_ is what he’d missed: a good spar, someone to match evenly with him.

(And if he was Fire Nation, then it made the battle that much more interesting.)

Over the ringing of sword on sword, Jet felt his own rage wash over him again.

“You just fucking _left_ us,” he hissed, pushing Li back with as much force as he could muster. He panted over the agony ripping through his arm. “You dropped that fucking bomb on us, and you took off.”

“You mean you would’ve shrugged it off?” he responded, dodging another one of Jet’s attacks. “You would’ve let me sleep in your room again after that?”

Jet’s face flushed red, and before he could dismiss them memories of waking up to some kind of human furnace in his arms came back to him. He cursed. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You should’ve stayed to face me.”

A snort came out of Li’s mouth. “I saved your life, so I should’ve stayed and let you kill me? I wouldn’t have made it past the sunrise, Jet.”

“So you ran away, like a _coward_!” Jet said. “I thought the Fire Nation were supposed to be the superior race. You could’ve wiped me out while I was still unconscious.”

“I’m not a _murderer,_ ” Li raged. He was getting agitated, and Jet’s grin grew wider. The fight drew on, both of them getting sloppier as time passed, but neither of them relented. Jet’s arm only moved through the adrenaline that prevented Jet from feeling it.

“Murderer, firebender… they’re the same thing, aren’t they?” Jet goaded. “What, are you too good to use your bending now? Think I can’t handle a little fire, Li?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Li opened his eyes to find Jet’s and they looked molten, like liquid gold framed by pale skin and a fiery scar. He exhaled and smoke clouded his features, a haze of heat that caught the breeze and Jet could smell kindling flame from his breath. When he began advancing on Jet the heat emanating from him was enough to make Jet feel as if he was choking.

“My name is _Zuko_ ,” Li declared.

Yes, that seemed right. Jet scoffed. Zuko… a typical, ugly Fire Nation name. Sharp and foreign against his tongue.

Zuko.

(Wasn’t that the name of the banished prince Jet heard people talk about?)

Jet swung his blade in his hands, renewing his stance again as he eyed Li’s -- Zuko’s -- swords catching fire before him.

(Wasn’t Zuko the one that disgraced the Fire Lord a few years ago?)

And it was that revelation that stunned Jet into immobility, his body stilling, forcing Li -- Zuko -- to stop dead in his tracks opposite him. His swords clattered to the ground beside him, forgotten.

All of their fight seemed to melt away as Jet sank down slowly, his arm throbbing from overuse. He wanted to keep fighting. He wanted to stop _thinking_ , to let his brain disconnect from his body and simply _react_ , but he couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Li -- Zuko -- apologised, sitting down beside Jet. “I’m sorry I kept my identity from you a secret.”

“Just -- just shut up,” Jet said. How could he have found himself in the presence of Fire Nation _royalty_ without noticing?

“I told you you wouldn’t want me around.”

“What happened that day?” Jet heard himself asking, not really sure _why_ he needed to know, only that he did. He needed to _understand_ him.

It was like his energy had been sapped from him. His body ached, his head felt dizzy. He wanted to reach out to Li, to hold his hand, to ground himself and keep his mind afloat, but he didn’t. He didn’t dare.

“My sister,” Li replied in answer. “She heard I’d been traveling through the Earth Kingdom with you three and put together a bounty worth more gold than any of these towns have seen in the last century combined. Dead or alive,” he said.

Jet nodded, but it didn’t make sense in his mind. Why couldn’t he find it in himself to feel enraged? To feel infuriated? He was sitting next to the prince of the Fire Nation, talking about his family, but Jet was just sitting there. Why wasn’t he biting at the bit to move, to fight, to get revenge?

(Because Zuko was as much of a victim as he was.)

(His _sister_ called the order to capture him?)

“All they wanted was me, and because of me you guys got hurt.”

Jet felt his brows pull together in frustration. “But you -- you’re… you were banished, weren’t you? What would they want with you?”

Li laughed. “All they want to do is hurt me. Hurting me back then was sending me as far away from the capital as they could. If hurting me now is keeping me close, that’s what they’ll do.”

Jet’s head hurt. How could his family _do_ that? Family… family was supposed to support you, love you. Keep you safe at night and teach you how to protect yourself.

And here Li was, revealing himself as Zuko, whose family only wanted to break him.

Jet turned to look into Li’s face, his eyes lingering on the scar that left his vision and hearing impaired. 

(What was it Li told them before about his scar?)

(Didn’t he get it after speaking out against the war?)

(Didn't he say his father had done it to him?)

(Who would have the power to banish a thirteen year old after such a severe punishment?)

“The Fire Lord,” Zuko answered his unspoken question quietly.

 _Prince_ Zuko --

 _Son_ of Fire Lord Ozai -- 

The way Li had flinched any time someone moved to touch him --

Something inside Jet broke. Maybe it was his heart. Maybe it was his head.

“ _Your own father_ ,” he yelled, standing up, beginning to pull at his own hair. “You spoke out against the war, and your _father_ \-- he -- he _did that_ \--”

Zuko stood and pulled Jet’s fingers from the knots he was creating in his hair. “I’ve made my peace with it,” he said calmly.

“ _How?_ ” Jet howled. “How can you _forgive_ \--”

“I didn’t,” Zuko cut him off. “And I don’t. But I am the person I am today because he cast me out.” He looked at Jet. His eyes held a pleading look to them. “If I’d stayed quiet and lived inside the palace, I would never have seen how badly the world is suffering. I would’ve been the very person you hate, Jet.”

Jet hated the feeling twisting inside his gut.

“Jet…” he said, and he paused, and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Jet remembered nights where he and Li were a mess of tangled limbs, breathing each other in because the chilly treetop air sometimes left Jet shivering and Li was a walking, talking heat wave. 

He remembered the first time they kissed. Both of them wet with sweat and rain, covered in mud because their spar that evening had ended in a storm they hadn’t been expecting. Hearts pounding because they’d had a particularly good duel that evening, and the rain made it even more intense. The way Li’s eyes flickered down to Jet’s lips and Jet closed the distance between them, tilting his head down because Li was just a _hair_ shorter than Jet, and then everything was warm--

Jet brought his good hand up to Zuko’s face. The louder part of his mind wanted to cringe now, knowing the reason he was so warm-natured, but the quieter part of his mind didn’t seem to mind.

Zuko wouldn’t move any closer. This, _they_ , had to be Jet’s call.

What would it mean to Jet if he allowed himself this one thing, this little sliver of peace?

(Zuko was the opposite of peace. He attracted chaos like a magnet. His own family wanted to break him.)

But Zuko wasn’t broken. He was stronger than he’d ever been. And besides, he had his uncle to care for him, didn’t he? Not all of his family was evil.

(Not broken, then, but fragile. Porcelain pieced back together with glue. One good fall from shattering completely.)

He wouldn’t fall if he had strong hands holding him up, though, right?

(Whose hands would be strong enough to keep him together?)

Jet pressed his lips against Zuko’s. They were rough and dry, but he didn’t care. 

(Zuko wasn’t alone, though. Who said he couldn’t be held up by a few pairs of hands?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing is doneee!! i didn't expect to make it into a multi-chapter thing but i didn't think these would work well as standalones. i also didn't expect to have so much written so quickly? but this au kinda sucked me in and i'm not mad about it. i both love the end here and feel like it's... a little underwhelming, but maybe that's because i've tweaked and rewrote and rearranged almost the whole thing over the last day or so so maybe i'm just too familiar with it.


End file.
